Boris is still in the room when I sit back at my desk. At first he’s observing the aquarium, but he keeps casting glances my way.
Finally, I huff, “What?”
Boris turns around and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “That boy you hired at the restaurant. Michael.”
“Micah,” I correct.
Boris shrugs. “Micah, then. How long is he going to stay here?”
Forever.
“I don’t know. Until he finds another job?” I answer brusquely. “Why?”
Boris stays quiet for long enough that I grow impatient. When I’m about to kick him out, he says, “I heard what the guy said the other day.”
“Guy?” I repeat, confused now. “Who said what?”
“The one pretending to be a cop.” Boris takes his hands out of his pockets and looks down at them, clenching his fists. “I went to check if you needed help.”
Oh.
I force myself to remain calm. “You heard the fake cop make fake accusations?”
“Cut the crap, Boss,” Boris mutters. “You’re fucking that kid, right? That’s why you hired him. That’s why you’re hanging around him. That’s why you keep taking him home, and you don’t want guards around anymore.”
My heart pounds hard in my chest.
This is it.
This is when all my life’s sins catch up to me.
I won’t get judged by God, but by my fellow gangsters.
It’s fitting, in a way.
But I’m not going to give up now. If Silvano Cresci and Kyran Winters can be openly gay and command respect, I’m not going to go down without a fight.
I get out of my chair, bracing myself on the desk. “You’ve got a problem with that, Boris?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Boris sighs loudly. “Boss, I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing. You hired him at the restaurant.And I did some digging?—”
“That I didn’t tell you to do,” I snap.
“I found out he got arrested a few years back on drug charges,” Boris says. “Which is fine, but if he’s selling you a story about how he’s some cute innocent waif, it’s a fucking lie.”
My mouth goes dry.
My first instinct is to yell at Boris and tell him he’s fucking lying, that Micahisinnocent.
But even Micah has been quick to correct me. We’ve both been cagey about our pasts, and I didn’t want to pry.
He could have told me while I was spilling my guts about my father, though.
“And…” Boris cringes when he looks at me, then stands taller. “And, I heard him talking to somebody on the phone. The restaurant staff say he calls somebody almost every night. You say he has no other friends or family, then who’s he calling? Why would he be telling somebody not to worry, that he’s fine, that he’s….” Boris flounders, then says in English, “I’m doing what you asked.”
I grip the edge of the desk.
“You must have misheard,” I say harshly. “It wasn’t Micah on the phone. You misunderstood the servers. We both know your English is crap.”
